to find himself out of
the sewer and lying exhausted on the pavement.

He knew that there was some reason why he couldn't just lie there
forever, some reason why he had to hide where he couldn't be seen.

It was not until that moment that he realized that he was completely
naked. He had been stripped of everything, including the chronometer on
his wrist.

With an effort, he heaved himself to his feet again and began running,
stumbling drunkenly, yet managing somehow to keep on his feet. He had to
find shelter, find help.

Somewhere in there, his mind blanked out again.

* * * * *

He awoke feeling very tired and weak, yet oddly refreshed, as though he
had slept for a long time. When his eyes opened, he simply stared at the
unfamiliar room for a long time without thinking--without really caring
to think. He only knew that he was warm and comfortable and somehow
safe, and it was such a pleasant feeling after the nightmare of cold and
terror that he only wanted to enjoy it without analyzing it.

But the memory of the nightmare came again, and he couldn't repress it.
And he knew it hadn't been a nightmare, but reality.

Full recollection flooded over him.

Someone had shot him with a beamgun, that nasty little handweapon that
delivered in one powerful, short jolt the same energy that was doled out
in measured doses over a period of minutes in a standard nerve-burner.
He remembered jerking aside at the last second, just before the weapon
was fired, and it was evidently that which had saved his life. If the
beam had hit him in the head or spine, he'd be dead now.

Then what? Guessing about something that had happened in the past was
futile, and, anyway, guessing didn't apply to situations like that. But
he thought he could pretty well figure out what had happened.

After he'd been shot down, his assailant had probably dragged him off
somewhere and stripped him, and then dumped him bodily into the sewer.
The criminal had undoubtedly thought that The Guesser was dead; if the
body had been found, days or weeks later, it would be unidentifiable,
and probably dismissed as simply another unsolved murder. They were
rather common in low-class districts such as this.

Which brought him back again to the room.

He sat up in bed and looked around. Class Six Standard Housing. Hard,
gray, cast polymer walls--very plain. Ditto floor and ceiling. Single
glow-plate overhead. Rough, gray bedcloth